


caramel

by silvyri



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Anxious Peter Parker, Barista Peter Parker, Dom Wade Wilson, Fluff, Forward Wade Wilson, Hand Jobs, Hitman Wade Wilson, Kinky, Light BDSM, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shy Peter Parker, Size Difference, Size Kink, Smut, Sub Peter Parker, The bookshelves are going to be traumatised, Unscarred Wade Wilson, What The Hell Wade, but he’ll be scarred later, might get heavier later, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23404246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvyri/pseuds/silvyri
Summary: On a corner not too far from Empire State University, there is a little bookstore cafe called ‘caramel’. Peter has worked there for almost a year while he studies towards his degree, and he has his regular customers that he sees almost every day. He wouldn’t say he has a favourite, but a blue-eyed Canadian man who comes in one slow Tuesday morning and calls him ‘baby boy’ might just top them all. It does help that he’s probably the hottest guy Peter has ever seen, and insists on flirting outrageously with Peter, even as Peter stutters and falls over his own words.
Relationships: Wade Wilson/Peter Parker
Comments: 265
Kudos: 732





	1. are you on the menu?

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I’ve always wanted to write a coffee shop AU. I’ve also always wanted to write a shy and blushing Peter and a very, very forward Wade. So I’ve decided to combine the two. :D Not really sure where this is going, but I know it’s going to get kinky. And probably involve a lot of feels.
> 
> Vague warning for Wade being a little aggressive in his flirting and handling of Peter? If Peter wasn’t into it he would probably be super uncomfortable, but he’s into it ;D

Tuesday mornings are always slow. There are the normal regulars, of course, ordering their usual assortments of coffees and pastries and donuts, but as 10 rolls around Peter finds himself the only person in the little bookstore cafe he works at.

He collects dirty plates and mugs from tables and wipes them down, puts books that have been left out back on their shelves and then settles down behind the counter to do some chemistry work that he’s been meaning to get to. Workbook and textbook spread out, pen in hand, calculator at the ready and glasses perched on his nose, he sets out to get at least an hour of work done before the lunch crowd starts trickling in.

Ten minutes tick by on the clock, and he’s so engrossed in a complicated chemical equation that he doesn’t hear the little bell over the door chime. It’s only when somebody leans down over the counter with their chin in their hand that Peter realises that a customer has come in.

He springs up straight, fumbling his glasses off. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you come in!”

The man grins up at him, all rugged stubble, dimples and bright blue eyes. There’s a scar over his left eyebrow, a black and red plaid jacket stretched over his broad shoulders, and when he straightens up he’s almost an entire foot taller than Peter’s meagre 5’6.

“Don’t mind me, cupcake,” he says, rough voice making Peter’s toes tingle. Peter’s toes have _never_ tingled in his entire life. “I was just enjoying the view.”

 _The view?_ Peter thinks to himself, glancing over his shoulder. The drinks board _is_ rather nicely done up with cute chalk drawings of books and cats, thanks to MJ, but it’s not particularly spectacular in any way. 

The man laughs a little. “You’re the cutest thing I’ve seen this Millenia.”

Peter goes bright red and tries to push his glass up his nose, a nervous habit. _He meant me?_ Of course, he’s not wearing his glasses, so all he manages to do is poke himself between the eyes. Going even redder, he drops his hand to the counter. His palms are sweating. “Um,” he says, because he has no idea how to respond to that. “Can I get you… anything?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the man says, grinning widely. He’s so handsome that Peter’s sure if he wasn’t bracing himself on the counter his knees would’ve given way. “Maybe your number?”

Peter’s pretty sure his face is on fire. “Um,” he says again, eloquently.

“Or a kiss,” the man says, “I’m not fussy.” He winks a sky blue eye.

Okay, yeah, if it wasn’t on fire, it certainly is now. Peter drops his gaze down to his workbook, because looking at the man any longer is going to give him a heart attack. Either from embarrassment or from how hot he is, he’s not sure. “I- uh- I’m sorry, those things aren’t, um, on the menu currently.”

“Not currently,” the man states, scarred eyebrow arching. “So there’s a chance that they might become available?” His voice is _doing things_ to Peter. Fluttery, _warm_ things.

Peter can feel himself start to sweat. “I don’t- I wouldn’t- I… maybe?” He says, stumbling over his words, and wow, that’s the boldest he’s ever been. He glances up through his lashes and then back down again, chewing at his lip. His stomach is all twisted up with nerves and butterflies.

“Hmm,” the man hums. “Well, I guess I’m just going to have to try my luck another time, won’t I, sweetheart?”

“Prob- probably,” Peter stutters. He’d never thought that the word _sweetheart_ could turn him into a half melted mess. He’s pretty sure his heart is about to escape through his rib cage. 

“In that case, I’ll have a large triple shot mocha with whipped cream and sprinkles, and oh, oh could you put some marshmallows on the side, pretty please? I love me some marshmallows! Especially the pink ones.”

“Um, sure.” Peter nods, hastily ringing the order up. How did this guy stay so in shape if he drank these kinds of drinks? “Anything, uh, else?”

The man leans over the counter, just enough for Peter to catch a whiff of his cologne. Rich, deep and smoky, with a hint of citrus. “Your name? I could keep calling you baby boy in my head, but I’ve got an inkling that your name would be even better.”

 _I don’t know,_ Peter thinks to himself, _I kind of like the sound of baby boy._ And then promptly internally combusts because _who is he?_ He’s _never_ been like this around somebody else, not even when he had a huge crush on MJ in high school. 

“Um,” he says, fiddling with the string of his apron. “Peter. Uh, my name’s Peter.”

“Peter,” the man basically _purrs,_ and Peter’s stomach somersaults at least twice. Possibly gets a backflip in there as well. “That’s a wonderful name. Peter. Petey. Petey-pie. Officially my new favourite name. My name’s Wade, which is obviously not as a supremely amazing name as Peter. Wade Wilson Winston, at your service. Nice to meet ya,” he says, holding out a hand.

Peter glances at it, blinking, before hurriedly holding his out as well. Wade takes it firmly, his palm warm and dry. His hand immediately dwarfs Peter’s, his skin rough and calloused, but instead of shaking he brings the back of Peter’s hand to his lips and kisses it with a smile.

Peter snatches his hand back, the imprint of Wade’s lips and the scratch of his stubble burning into his skin. His blush can probably be seen from space at this point. “Um,” he says again, “um.” And then he abruptly turns back to the cash register, fumbling with the buttons. “That’ll be $4.45 all together.”

Wade pulls a ten dollar bill out of a beat up Hello Kitty wallet and hands it over. “Keep the change,” he says, perfect white teeth practically sparkling in the dim cafe lighting. 

Peter takes it, jolting a little as their hands touch again, and stares down at it. He cannot math right at this point. His brain is mush. He just shoves the note into the register to figure out the tip later. “Thanks,” he squeaks, and then clears his throat. He tries to look back up at Wade’s face but can’t, too embarrassed, and ends up settling his gaze somewhere in the middle of the man’s chest, which honestly isn’t that much better because Wade is _ripped._ “Um, take a seat wherever you like. I’ll bring it down to you.”

“Thanks, honeybun,” Wade says, and wanders off to find a table. Peter watches him go for a second, dazed, and then breaks himself out of it to step to the coffee machine.

He’s so flustered that he fumbles for a second, but then the routine of grinding the coffee beans takes over and he quickly makes up the drink, running the coffee machine and frothing up the milk. If he spends a little more time making sure that the whipped cream and sprinkles look perfect, nobody has to know. And if he puts more than the mandated two pink marshmallows on the saucer, nobody has to know that either.

Wade’s sitting in a little table in the corner next to the bookshelves, his back to the wall. He’s already got a book spread out open in front of him, and he’s flipping through it, looking amused. He looks up as Peter approaches, and his smile is so bright that Peter really has to concentrate on not getting stunned and tripping over his own two feet. 

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he says as Peter slides the drink in front of him. “Oh my god, you got me all pink marshmallows! You’re a _dream,_ baby boy.” 

Peter wipes his hands on his apron nervously. “Um, you’re welcome?”

“I’m more than welcomed,” Wade purrs. “Mark me down as besotted and completely obsessed with your freckles. I’ve never wanted to lick someone’s face more than yours.”

 _Right,_ Peter thinks to himself. _Okay. Am I sure that I’m not dreaming right now?_ “I don’t usually let people, um, lick my face…?”

“I could be your exception?” Wade asks. “I could be your everything,” he winks.

Peter cannot take anymore of this. He’s going to actually die. Just like, right where he’s standing. Blushing madly he spins on his heel and escapes back to behind the counter, only tripping a bit over the little step in front of it. He can almost _feel_ the amusement in Wade’s gaze as he puts his head down to stare at his workbook, heart beating a million miles per hour.

The moan that Wade lets out when he takes the first sip of his drink makes Peter _very glad_ that he’s currently standing behind a counter with absolutely no way to see below his waist.

* * *

For a while Peter and Wade are the only ones in the little bookstore cafe. Peter’s acutely aware of every sound and movement the other man makes, and every time he looks up from his work Wade is looking at him, blue eyes sharp and sparkling. 

Peter gets none of the work he’d wanted done.

But after what seems like forever but in reality is only ten minutes, a slow trickle of the early lunchers begin to walk in and soon Peter’s busy enough with coffee and pastry orders that Wade slips from his mind. The next chance that Peter has to catch his breath he looks over to the little table in the corner and is disappointed to find it empty, only a drained coffee mug and a napkin with a love heart scribbled on it in black sharpie left behind.

* * *

The next day Peter has the same morning and lunch shift. He may have spent a few extra minutes in front of the mirror before leaving his tiny apartment, but he tells himself it’s just because he wants to look nice for all the cafe’s customers, and not just for one customer in particular.

Every time the bell dings above the door and another person walks in he perks up and then deflates a little when he doesn’t see a scarred eyebrow or a plaid red and black jacket. 10 comes and goes, and with no sign of a beefed up Canadian with a smile like sunshine Peter resigns himself to the fact the man isn’t going to come in again (it was a small chance anyway, he tells himself) and disappears into the bookshelves at the side of the cafe to tidy up. 

He’s just straining up to the top shelf to put a book back where it belongs when the bell chimes over the door. “Sorry!” He calls out, “I’ll be right out in just a sec!”

 _Damn it, where did I put that step-stool?_ He thinks to himself, up on the very tips of his toes. _So. Close!_

And then there’s a warm hand on his hip and a deep chuckle in his ear and Peter goes very, very still. The book is plucked out of his hand and slid into its spot between the other books.

“Hello again, baby boy.” The words are purred into his ear and Peter spins around with a gasp, leaning back up against the bookshelf as he looks up at the familiar wide grin. 

“Um,” Peter squeaks. “H- hi.”

Wade taps him on the chin, smiling. His rich, smoke and citrus scent envelopes Peter and makes him go lightheaded. “You’re wearing glasses,” Wade says, nudging the frame of them with the back of his finger. He’s _so close._

“Oh,” Peter says, fumbling to take them off. But before he can even touch them Wade has grabbed his wrist and Peter freezes again, eyes huge behind his lenses.

“I didn’t mean you should take them off,” Wade says, leaning in closer. He’s so much taller than Peter that Peter has to bend his neck right back, his head bumping against the books behind him. “You look practically _edible.”_

Peter gulps, and Wade’s eyes follow the movement of his throat. He still hasn’t let go of Peter’s wrist.

“I’m going to let you in on a secret, sugar,” Wade says, moving in closer. “I was supposed to leave town last night. Just got a job done, you see, and I never stay in one place long. But I couldn’t get the cute little barista from the quaint little cafe out of my mind, or his pretty blush when I flirted with him, or his perfect brown curls.” He tugs at a strand of Peter’s hair, not gently, but not enough to hurt either. Peter’s legs go weak.

“I couldn’t get his big brown bambi eyes out of my head either,” Wade continues, and Peter _eeps_ when a muscular thigh is slipped in between his, and Wade’s grin widens. “Or the way he tripped over his own words, or how when I caught him looking at me he looked away every time with the sweetest, shyest little smile.” 

He’s so close now that Peter can see small flecks of gold in his blue irises and can feel Wade’s body heat through both their clothes. He’s got Peter’s wrist pinned up beside Peter’s head, his other hand playing with a stray brown curl, his thigh between Peter’s legs so Peter can’t go anywhere. But Peter doesn’t _want_ to go anywhere.

“Do you think the menu might have changed since yesterday?” With every word, Wade’s breath brushes over Peter’s skin, spreading goosebumps. His breath smells like raspberry liquorice. 

“It- it might’ve,” Peter whispers, eyes jumping between Wade’s lips and his eyes. He feels like he’s too big for his skin, like he might burst. His free hand is sweaty where it’s gripping the bookshelf behind him, holding on for dear life. 

Wade’s smile turns into something dark and pleased. It sends a sharp jolt of heat right through Peter’s stomach. “Do I get a kiss then, sweetheart?” 

Peter gulps again, his heart beating like a small bird is fluttering against his rib cage. “I-” He starts, biting his lip. “Um.”

“You can say no, baby boy,” Wade says, and this time his expression is serious. “You say no and I’m gone. No harm done.”

Peter blinks. He hadn’t even considered that. Not that he couldn’t have said no, just that… he hadn’t even thought of _wanting_ to say no. “No,” he says, without thinking, and Wade’s expression drops and he takes a step back, letting go of Peter immediately. Peter’s heart stops and he stumbles forward, hand reaching out. 

“No- no, I mean, I meant _yes,”_ Peter says hastily, face burning as Wade catches him against his chest. “I meant yes.”

Wade’s face is graced again by one of his smiles. “Good boy,” he purrs, and Peter _melts._ He lets Wade press him back against the bookshelf, one hand in his hair and the other at his waist, tilts his head up and lets Wade kiss him.

Wade’s stubble rasps against the skin around Peter’s lips, and his mouth his hot and firm against Peter’s. He presses Peter into the bookshelf behind with the hard line of his body, trapping Peter in, his leg slipping between Peter’s again, pushing up between Peter’s thighs and making Peter gasp into Wade’s mouth. Wade chuckles, the sound vibrating through their joined lips, and suddenly Peter has another tongue in his mouth, warm and wet, and then teeth biting at his lips, and a hand inching up under his shirt.

He holds onto the fur lining of Wade’s jacket like a lifeline, squirming as a calloused hand finds one of his nipples. He arches and whines, the sound muffled by Wade’s mouth on his, and Wade chuckles again, rolling his nipple between his fingers.

“Christ on crack, you’re a treat,” Wade tells him, voice gone rough like gravel. His blue eyes are velvet dark as he licks his lips clean of Peter’s saliva and then leans down to nuzzle under Peter’s chin. Peter lets out a desperate sound, one that he’s never heard himself make before, as Wade’s stubble scraps over his sensitive skin. And then there are teeth against his throat and a mouth sucking hot and _hard,_ making the side of Peter’s neck ache and sting and turning Peter into a loose-limbed mess in Wade’s hold.

Wade pulls back with one hard, last suck, and then dives back in for Peter’s mouth. Peter had hardly been able to catch his breath from before, and he whimpers into the kiss, breathing fast through his nose. He’s slipping down the bookshelf, riding over Wade’s thigh. Wade has to hoist him up, making an amused sound.

The way Wade manhandles Peter into the position he wants makes Peter dizzy with arousal. He ends up with his thighs spread wide, hitched over Wade’s hips with his apron bunched between them, his glasses askew on his nose and his arms over his head with one of Wade’s wide hands holding his wrists in place. The shelves of the bookshelf behind him are digging into his back, and he knows he’s probably going to come out of this with bruises, _god he hopes he comes out of this with bruises,_ but the way that Wade steals his breath from him has him uncaring of anything else. The world has narrowed down to him, Wade, and the gasping breaths they take as their mouths part and then meet again and again.

“I could do this to you all day,” Wade says against his mouth. “Such a sweet thing, baby boy, so pretty,” he says, and he almost sounds _sad_ for some reason. 

Peter doesn’t like the sound of sad in Wade’s voice. _“Please,”_ he begs, and he’s completely forgotten that he’s at work, that there could be customers waiting, that he’s supposed to be manning the counter, that he hardly even _knows_ this man. “Please, _Wade.”_

“Shit,” Wade hisses, pressing Peter further into the bookshelf. The hardness in his jeans pushes against Peter’s and Peter mewls, hands clenching into fists where they’re held over his head. “Say it again, darling, say my name.”

 _“Wade,”_ Peter breathes, looking up at the man through his lashes and over his glasses. He sees Wade’s gaze intensify on him, something in his eyes giving way and letting something dark and fierce through. It pins Peter in place, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable, like something close to prey. 

“I wanna keep you,” Wade says, voice rough, “all to myself.” And despite the ferocity of his gaze he leans his forehead against Peter’s and closes his eyes, pressing a chaste kiss against Peter’s lips. Peter doesn’t want to think it, but it almost feels like a farewell.

The bell above the door chimes and suddenly Peter’s left leaning against the bookshelf, cold and alone, his feet unsteady against the floor, mouth bruised and shirt untucked and glasses lopsided. Wade takes another step back from him, face carefully blank. “See you ‘round, baby boy,” he says, takes one last look at Peter’s flustered face, and strides out from between the bookshelves.

“Wait-” Peter stumbles after him, but he only sees Wade’s broad back as the man leaves the cafe, the bell chiming over the door. Peter wants to go after him, ask him _why,_ why did that kiss feel like a goodbye, but there’s a girl standing at the counter, her nose buried in her phone.

 _Damn it,_ Peter thinks, biting his lip. He brushes his hair down and hurriedly tidies his shirt, pushes his glasses up his nose and thanks any deity out there listening that his apron is hiding his hard-on, and heads shakily for the counter.

“Sorry, what can I get you?”

* * *

Peter doesn’t have work the next day, but in between morning and afternoon classes he makes the excuse that coffee on campus is too shit for him, an accomplished barista, to drink, and walks the ten minutes to _caramel._ He gets an employee discount after all, he tells himself.

“Pete!” Gwen says happily when he walks in. There are a few customers milling about between the shelves and drinking coffee at the tables, but they’ve all been served and Gwen isn’t too busy behind the counter.

“Hey Gwen,” Peter greets, leaning on the counter. “How’s things going?”

“Pretty good,” she says, brushing a blonde lock of hair behind her ear. “Not too busy. No tips though,” she pouts. “I’m losing my touch.”

“You could never,” Peter replies, grinning.

“None of that,” Gwen says, rolling her eyes, but she’s smiling as well. “Honestly, you’re so smooth around girls, but as soon as a hunk of a man walks in you’re tripping all over yourself. It’s such a waste,” she sighs. “Oh, did you want a drink?

“Yes please. Just a latte.”

Peter watches Gwen grind the coffee beans, idly fiddling with his fingers. When she flicks the hot water on he looks down at the wooden counter, tracing the whorls in the grain with his eyes. “Hey… A guy with a scar on his left eyebrow hasn’t come in today, has he?”

“Hmm, I don’t think so,” Gwen says before she starts throthing the milk. She whacks the bottom of the metal jug on the counter to get rid of any bubbles before pouring it over the shot of espresso. “Though I haven’t really been paying that much attention. What else does he look like?”

“Tall, blue eyes,” Peter says, fighting the blush over his cheeks. “Dark blond hair. Um, wears a red and black plaid jacket. He really likes marshmallows.”

Gwen puts his coffee in front of him, humming. “Anything else?”

“He’s got a Canadian accent. And uh, a really nice smile. And a dimple in his left cheek.” Peter can feel his stomach flipping just thinking about it.

“I meant did you want anything else,” Gwen says, eyes laughing. “But I’ve changed my mind. Tell me more about tall, blue eyed, Mr Canadian with a _nice smile.”_

Peter goes bright red and grabs his coffee. “No. You’re mean,” he whines.

“Aw, don’t be like that!” Gwen calls after him, but Peter ignores her, settling down in his favourite plushy armchair and hiding his face with his drink.

He sits there for as long as he can before he’s late for his next class, but whenever the bell chimes and he looks up, there’s no sparkling blue eyes or broad shoulders to be seen.

* * *

Friday is also another day that Peter doesn’t have work at _caramel._ He fights the urge to go in for another coffee and ask if Wade has turned up again, and tells himself that he’s not that desperate that he’s going to sit in the cafe all day waiting to see if Wade will walk in.

Instead he spends the day running his thumb over the deep bruise Wade has left on the side of his throat as he studies, running the pads of his fingers over it lightly and then pressing in harder, just to feel the ache and sting of the mark again, reminding himself that what had happened actually _had_ happened. The bruises on his back from the bookshelves are already fading, only faint purple lines across his shoulder blades and lower back, and the shadows of Wade’s firm grip around his wrists are hardly even noticeable. He’s glad that he bruises so easily, but equally as upset that he tends to heal quicker as well. 

He’s pretty sure he dreams of Wade’s stubble rasping against his skin at night, the way his voice had dipped low and rough when he’d said the words _‘good boy’_ to Peter, and he wakes with one of the hardest erections he thinks he’s ever gotten, except of course for when he’d been pinned up against a bookshelf by a man twice his size. 

He thinks that there might be something wrong with him as he jerks off to the image of Wade’s smile on the back of his eyelids, face hidden in his pillow and cheeks glowing red with shame, because is it healthy to be this obsessed with someone he’s only met twice? But then when he comes all over himself and the sheets below him he decides that he doesn’t really care. 

* * *

That weekend he works the lunch and closing shifts. Since lunch on the Saturday and Sunday are always busy MJ and Gwen both are working as well, with Ned in the back helping with the dishes and food plating.

“Seriously, Pete, what’s up with you today? You’ve messed up like four coffee orders,” MJ says as she picks up a tray and frowns when she finds long blacks instead of flat whites. “And you keep jumping whenever the door opens.”

“It’s nothing,” Peter says, cheeks red. “Just didn’t get much sleep last night. Sorry, I’ll do them again.”

“He’s just distracted because he’s hoping Mr Tall, Dark and Likes Marshmallows will come in,” Gwen teases as she breezes past, three plates of pastries and salads balanced in her hands. 

“Gwen,” Peter whines, but she’s already off between the tables, laughing.

“Oh?” MJ says, eyes narrowing. She’s scented blood, and Peter knows now that he’s not going to get _any_ peace around here. “Tell me, Parker. Tell me everything.”

Peter shakes his head, face burning, and turns back to the coffee machine. “There’s someone at the counter,” he says.

MJ curses under her breath, turning around and pasting on her customer smile. “You’re not going to get away that easily,” she says out of the corner of her mouth, and steps up to the counter.

* * *

Wade doesn’t come in that weekend, or the week after. By the next weekend Peter has resigned himself to the fact that Wade has gotten what he’d wanted out of Peter, and isn’t going to come back. The bruises have long since faded from Peter’s skin, and so is the memory of Wade’s outrageous flirting, the way his mouth had felt against Peter’s, and the scent of his smoke and citrus cologne. Peter finds it hard to remember the exact shade of blue of Wade’s eyes, and stops looking up with hope whenever the bell above the door chimes.

And life goes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually I would try and hold off posting before I’ve written a few chapters, but being on lockdown for at least four weeks has me wanting to get motivated to write more, since I haven’t got much else to do. Posting usually gets me super motivated, especially if some people enjoy what I’ve written. <3
> 
> I hope some people will enjoy coming on this journey with me. :3


	2. winter blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter arrives in New York, and Peter works over the semester break at _caramel._ One shift, a co-worker tells him someone has been asking after him. Someone who sounds familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shiiiiiit guys the amount of people who liked the first chapter??? Like??? I’m blown away. Thank you all so much for commenting and leaving kudos! I’m so blessed. ;-;
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Winter settles slowly but surely over New York City.

The days get shorter and the nighters longer. Peter studies fervently, handing in paper after paper and sitting exam after exam. Before he realises it, the semester has ended and he’s started working full time at _caramel_ over the winter break.

Thursday nights are late nights at the bookstore cafe. Peter has the closing shift, and he turns up 15 minutes early to get ready. The bell jingles as he steps in and closes the door quickly behind him, keeping the winter chill out of the warm and cosy little shop. 

“Hey, Pete,” Miles greets from behind the counter, throwing Peter a lazy salute. 

“Hey, Miles,” Peter replies, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck. “Quiet one?”

Miles sighs, nodding. “Only had like, five people in for lunch. Looks like the weather’s about to turn into a real shitter so nobody’s out.”

Peter turns to look out the large glass windows. Dark grey clouds have amassed over the sky. The wind had already been picking up as he’d walked to work, and dead leaves are swirling across the pavement. It’s a good thing he’d brought an umbrella, or he’d been getting soaked to the bone walking back home tonight. 

“Yeah, looks like it’s gonna be a bad one. Did you wanna leave now, so you’d be home hopefully before it starts to really bucket down?” 

Miles grins in relief. “Honestly, you’re a lifesaver. I owe you one, man.”

Peter smiles. “Don’t worry about it. Um, lemme just get my apron and dump my stuff and we can swap out.”

It’s already starting to drizzle by the time Peter’s ready and Miles has clocked out. 

“Oh, by the way,” Miles says as he zips up his jacket. “Some really jacked up dude was in here before, asking about you.”

Peter pauses in fiddling with the tie of his apron, heart skipping a beat. Was it-? No way. “Oh,” he says, fumbling the tie into a clumsy bow behind his waist. “What for?”

“Dunno,” Miles shrugged, hands jammed into his pockets. “I told him you’d be in later. He seemed real keen to see you.”

Peter swallows. “Um. What did he look like? Did he give you a name?”

“Nah, I didn’t ask. Er- real tall and super beefed up. Had a dope scar over his eyebrow.”

Peter’s heart skips a beat. It’s been over two months, almost three, since Wade had pushed him up against the bookshelves and left Peter with bruises over his skin and memories of heated, hungry kisses to dream of at night. He’d been sure that he’d just been a passing fancy of Wade’s, and that the man probably didn’t even remember his name anymore. Was it possible that Peter was wrong?

“Anyway, I’m gonna head out. Thanks again, man.”

Peter smiles shakily at Miles and waves goodbye as he leaves with a chime of the bell. Long after Miles has disappeared down the street Peter stares out into the drizzle, chewing at his bottom lip in thought. There’s no way, is there? 

Color high in his cheeks, he starts to make himself a coffee to calm himself down, his pulse running like a rabbit’s. Some of his memories of Wade have faded with time, but the warm bubbly, fizzy feeling Peter gets in his stomach when he thinks of the man has gotten no less potent. He tells himself that he shouldn’t get all wound up; it could’ve been anyone, there’s no point in making himself disappointed. But everytime the bell rings over the door and a gust of cold wind swirls through the cafe he can’t help but look up with a hopeful smile.

Every time, he’s disappointed.

By the time it’s almost time to close, Peter’s convinced himself that it had just been some random guy asking after him. Maybe just an old customer that he’s forgotten about. If Wade was in town he would’ve come in already. Wouldn’t have he?

The rain is coming down now in sheets outside the wide windows at the front of the cafe. It pounds against the pavement and thunders quietly against the tin roof of the cafe, a pleasant white noise behind the gentle piano playing from the speakers. The heaters tick away, keeping the bookstore cafe warm and cosy and lulling Peter into a sleepy sort of quiet where he’s flipping through a cute picture book at the counter. 

He checks his watch, hiding a yawn behind his hand. No one has come in for over an hour, so he makes the executive decision to close a little early. He flips the sign on the front door to read _closed, see you tomorrow,_ cleans up and starts the cash up at the counter. 

Peter can almost do the math with his eyes closed, so his mind wanders. _Stupid,_ he thinks to himself, counting out coins, _did you really think a guy like that would come back for someone like you?_

The bell above the door chimes.

Peter looks up, vaguely annoyed. _Can’t they read?_ “Hi, sorry, we’re closed-” He stops, his handful of coins clattering to the counter.

Wade smiles at him from the door, twiddling his fingers. “Hey, baby boy, long time no see, huh?”

“Wade,” Peter says weakly.

Wade closes the door behind him gently, the sound of the rain and wind suddenly cutting off. “Sorry for barging in,” he says, walking up to the counter as he runs his fingers through his wet hair, “but also not sorry.”

“Your eye,” Peter says, voice still fragile, “what happened to your eye?”

Wade touches the purple swelling around his left eye gingerly. “Hazards of the job, sugar. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“I’ll go get you some ice,” Peter says, and escapes into the back.

He’s rummaged halfway into the chest freezer for an ice pack before he finally stops to think, his hand grasping a bulk packet of frozen mixed berries. _He came back,_ he thinks, giddy. _I can’t believe he came back._ And then he thinks, _what is he doing back? I thought… Maybe I was wrong?_ It’s been _months_ though. Months, and Wade still causes butterflies to flutter in his stomach and his cheeks to turn pink. It’s possible that the man has gotten even more gorgeous, even with his black eye. And his voice, the deep rasp of it, still sends shivers down Peter’s spine. Peter can’t believe that he’s still so infatuated.

 _Don’t think too much about it,_ Peter tells himself. _Just… enjoy it while you can._ He shuffles the berries aside and finally spots the first aid ice packs under some ice cream. 

He emerges from the back quietly, ice pack wrapped in a clean dish towel. For a second his heart stops; no one is standing at the counter. _He left again,_ he thinks to himself, feeling like he’s about to cry. But Wade is sitting at a table in the back, the one he’d sat at last time, his soaked jacket hanging over the back of the chair and misting gently in the heat. He’s staring out the window, into the rain, his face strangely blank.

Peter takes a deep, fortifying breath, letting his heart calm from the moment of panic, and then cautiously approaches. “Um, here,” he says, holding out the ice.

Wade turns to look at him, a slight smile spreading across his lips. “Thanks, gorgeous,” he purrs, but instead of taking the ice his hand grips around Peter’s wrist, his palm warm and dry, fingers like steel. 

Peter freezes, every hair on his body standing on end. 

“...Has the menu changed again?” Wade asks softly. Even with his black eye his gaze is intense. 

Peter swallows. “I don’t-” he chokes out and then clears his throat. _Don’t think too hard,_ he reminds himself, _don’t ruin this._ “It hasn’t changed,” he whispers. 

Wade’s smile is slow and pleased. He reels Peter in by his wrist and Peter goes willingly, blushing bright red as Wade grabs him by his hips and lowers him into his lap. The ice pack is lifted out of his hand and abandoned on the table to melt, forgotten. 

Wade’s thighs are solid and hard under him, the man’s palms wide and warm as he cups Peter’s pink cheeks in his hands. His gaze wanders over Peter’s face. “Fuck me, sweetheart, you’ve gotten even prettier, haven’t you? I’ve missed these gorgeous freckles,” he says, brushing a thumb over the apple of Peter’s cheek, and then down over his lips, his touch feather light. “And these lips.”

Peter’s heart feels like it’s turned into a hummingbird as Wade leans in. Making a small, unsure sound, he lets Wade kiss him, tilting his head as his glasses bump against Wade’s nose, hands shyly resting against Wade’s chest. His shirt is damp from the rain.

The kiss is chaste until Wade presses forward, tongue sneaking between Peter’s lips, fingers in Peter’s curls so Peter can’t escape it. It feels almost like a dream, Wade’s body warm and solid, his mouth wet and tasting like raspberry liquorice again, the sound of the rain against the roof and the soft piano music playing in the background. 

They kiss until Peter’s breathless with it, lips swollen and skin around his mouth pink from Wade’s stubble. Wade’s hand is resting on his lower back under his shirt, keeping him close. The man draws back to look at Peter’s face again and Peter’s gaze has to skip away, too embarrassed to meet Wade’s eyes.

“Still so shy,” Wade chuckles, reeling Peter back in for another kiss. When he finally lets Peter go Peter’s glasses are askew and he’s gasping for breath, dizzy and dazed. The world is suddenly shifting and in the next moment Peter is staring up at the ceiling, Wade grinning down at him, the wood of the table beneath him cold through his clothes. 

“Wait,” Peter finds himself saying as Wade leans down to kiss him again. “Wait- I- I don’t-” he stutters, too scared to ask _what are we doing? Why are you back again?_ His eyes flick to the side, to the wide windows of the cafe looking out over the street. “Somebody might see,” he says weakly. “I work here- I can’t-”

Wade steps out from between his dangling legs and moves swiftly to the front, locking the door with a loud click and yanking the barely used blinds down, doing the same to the windows, until the view of the street is blocked. Peter props himself up on his elbows, watching with huge eyes as Wade approaches again.

“Better, baby boy?” Wade asks, stroking up Peter’s thighs as he steps between Peter’s legs again. “No one’s gonna interrupt this time.”

Peter stares up at him. “I- um-” He feels weirdly untethered, and a little lost. Everything seems to be moving so fast and he’s not sure how to keep up, not sure about anything, about Wade or his own feelings, about why he’s letting this happen in the place he _works_ to pay his rent and bills.

Wade’s hands come to a rest on his hips. “Say the word, kitten,” Wade says, thumbs stroking over the skin exposed between Peter’s apron and shirt, “tell me to leave and I will. I _should,”_ he says, quieter, more intense, as he leans down over Peter to nuzzle into Peter’s cheek. “I _should_ go. I’m no good for sweet, pretty things like you, Petey. Not good at all. Tell me to leave, sweetheart. Tell me to go and leave you alone because I’m going to ruin this baby, I _know_ I am.”

But that’s one thing that Peter knows he doesn’t want. “No,” he whimpers, “please don’t go.” _Not again._ He turns his face into Wade’s, and carefully, tentatively presses his lips to Wade’s.

Wade surges forward, like he’s been holding back the entire time, biting and licking into Peter’s mouth, hands fighting with the buttons on Peter’s shirt, breathing heavily through his nose. Peter’s pretty sure he hears something rip and a button go pinging onto the floor but he doesn’t care, he just rucks his hands up under Wade’s shirt, moaning as he feels over hard ridges of muscle.

Wade’s mouth leaves his only for the short amount of time for him to strip his own shirt off, revealing a built torso covered in rough scars, and for him to tangle Peter’s wrists in his unbuttoned shirt and pin them over his head. He shoves Peter’s undershirt up to palm at Peter’s chest, mashing his mouth back onto Peter’s, pressing his hips into Peter’s.

Peter yelps and then keens as Wade grinds his erection into his, his own hips bucking. 

“You’re such a treat,” Wade growls, biting at Peter’s lower lip. “I could just eat you all up, baby boy, fucking _Christ_ I’ve been dreaming about you for fucking _weeks,_ it’s been driving me completely _nuts,_ do you have any idea how many times I’ve wanked thinking about your sweet little body and your fucking cute _smile?_ You’ve completely wrecked me, fuck,” he says, ripping at the tie of Peter’s apron. He somehow gets it undone, throwing it to the side, and starts on the fastenings of Peter’s jeans.

Peter just whines, half dazed from everything moving so fast and Wade’s kisses and hands, wriggling his hips to help Wade shove his jeans down, going bright red when he realises that his underwear is being dragged off his legs as well and he’s suddenly _naked,_ his shoes gone somehow, left only in his socks and undershirt pushed up over his chest. He twists, trying to hide, embarrassed because a boyfriend had laughed at him once, but Wade just pins his hips to the table and racks his gaze over Peter’s body.

“You’re goddamn pretty all over,” he breathes, and Peter wails as he wraps a hand around Peter’s cock, calloused fingers dragging at the skin of it. “Such a pretty cock, baby, yeah, that’s it, don’t hide from me, tell it all out, lemme hear all those gorgeous sounds you make,” he growls as Peter arches his back and moans, legs wrapped around Wade’s hips. 

There’s the sound of a belt buckle being undone and Peter lifts his head to stare as Wade pulls out his own cock, the girth and length of it making his big hands look almost average sized. 

“Oh,” Peter breathes, eyes huge, and then his head thunks back against the table as Wade presses their cocks together, hand stroking at both of them. He moans, heat curling in his stomach at the feel of Wade’s dick pressing against his, eclipsing his easily, Wade’s hand perfectly teetering on the edge of too tight around him. 

There’s suddenly pressure at his throat. Wade’s wrapped his other hand around his neck, thumbs and fingers digging into his skin, not restricting his breathing but just _holding_ him, making Peter’s cock drool more pre-cum and something pull hot and tight in his stomach. 

“You like that, huh?” Wade growls, leaning over him to kiss him, hand moving steadily between them. “You’d go down so sweetly for me, wouldn’t you baby? I could tell, the first time I kissed you, that you were desperate for someone to hold you down and tell you what to do, you were so soft and sweet and just _let_ me, fuck, what would you let me do to you, baby? _Tell me.”_

Peter whines, unable to form a coherent thought. The grip around his throat tightens and he gasps, fighting with the haze over his brain for words. “Anything,” he moans, and it doesn’t even frighten him to realise that it’s true, Wade could tell him to get down on his knees and he would, how did he not realise how much this man has him wrapped around his little finger even though it has been _months_ since they last saw each other?

“Good boy,” Wade breathes, and Peter chokes as the words suddenly tip him over the edge, vision going dark around the edges as he comes, back arching and hands grasping at the edge of the table over his head, his entire body shaking through his orgasm. 

Wade watches him intensely, hand on his throat forcing him to keep his face unhidden, exposing his furrowed brows and gasping, red mouth, his cheeks rosy under his freckles and glasses lopsided. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, there you go,” Wade says as Peter comes back down, chest heaving, cum smeared over his own stomach. Peter was too caught up in his own pleasure to be embarrassed, but now that he’s coming down from his high the shame sets in. And with Wade looking at him like that, gaze heavy and hot, the man’s hand still working over his huge cock, has tears start to form in his eyes, overwhelmed and unable to hide because of Wade’s hand on his neck.

“Shh,” Wade soothes, leaning down to kiss him. “It’s okay, baby, you were so good, you were so good for me darling, so pretty and sweet, you were perfect.” His breathing picks up as he fists at his cock.

“Look at me, show me those gorgeous baby browns,” he growls, and Peter stares up at him with wide, wet eyes as Wade groans through his own orgasm, splattering cum over Peter’s softening cock and stomach. He lets go of Peter’s neck to brace himself as his body tenses up, and then collapses back into the chair, dragging Peter’s limp body up and into his lap as he goes.

Peter feels weirdly floaty and disconnected as Wade wipes the cum from his skin with the cold dish cloth taken from the ice pack and dots kisses over his cheeks, putting his glasses back in place and murmuring sweet, soft things to him that his brain can’t compute. His tears are brushed away and his shirt tugged back down, but his wrists are left tangled in his shirt, braced against Wade’s chest.

“How you doing, Pete, back in the world of the living yet?”

Peter blinks and looks up, still feeling kind of warm and fuzzy and not all there, but suddenly very aware that he’s mostly naked in Wade’s lap in the cafe where he works, and he’d just came and _cried_ like a complete freak and _what the hell is he doing-_

“Hey, none of that,” Wade tells him, gripping the back of Peter’s neck steadily, staring into his eyes. “No freaking out, sweetheart, you did nothing wrong, you were perfect, gorgeous, such a good boy for me.”

And the panicked cold is lessened by the warmth those words bring. Wade smiles at him, pulling his face into his shoulder and running his fingers through Peter’s curls. He sighs, almost sadly, muttering something to himself.

“What?” Peter asks, voice hoarse.

“Nothing, honey,” Wade says. “Just- fuck. Nothing.” He pulls Peter’s head back to kiss him soft and sweetly. “Do you think you can stand?”

Peter’s face goes red again. “...Yeah. I think.”

Wade helps him up onto wobbly legs, and helps him get dressed again even as Peter’s face flames and his hands shake, hiding his face as Wade buttons up his shirt again.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Embarrassed?” Wade asks, peeling his hands from his face.

Peter stares up at him then away, feeling lost again. “I just- what are we doing? I don’t know- I really like you,” he confesses, feeling his palms sweat. “But you- you left for _months_ and then you come back and this- this happens and I don’t- I don’t know, I’m confused,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Wade cups his face and leans his forehead against Peter’s. “I shouldn’t have come back,” he sighs. “I _knew_ I would fuck this up royally. Baby, I’m sorry. Jeez, I’m such a piece of shit.” He sounds resigned.

Peter makes a noise, and it’s quiet for a few seconds, and there’s just the sound of the rain and the heaters ticking, the soft notes of the piano music in the background. He breathes in the scent of Wade’s familiar cologne.

“I’m going to wait outside. Do you have much to finish?”

Peter shakes his head. “Just gotta finish the cash up.”

Wade kisses him again, lips soft. “Cool beans. I’ll walk you home, and we can talk about- uh, we can talk.” He kisses Peter once more, drawing back to stroke his cheek, eyes moving over Peter’s face like he’s memorising him. “Go on, pumpkin.”

Peter stumbles up to the counter, looking over his shoulder as Wade grabs his jacket and walks to the door, back broad as ever, pulling out a cigarette pack as he goes. He unlocks the door and steps outside, and Peter can make out his shadow against the blinds, waiting outside the door under the awning. He’s glad that Wade’s decided to wait outside; he can finally find his bearings.

He fumbles through the rest of the cash up, but doesn’t care; he can balance it tomorrow if it’s wrong. He quickly locks it in the safe in the back, shoves the unused ice pack back in the freezer, throws the stained dish cloth in his bag with an embarrassed blush and turns off all the lights and heaters. He sets the alarm and takes a second to smile to himself, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. _Talk,_ he thinks excitedly, _maybe we can exchange numbers, so we can keep in touch even if he’s not in town._ He’s also embarrassed about what had happened just before; _oh my god I can’t believe we did that on the table!_ But he’s also pleased; it seems like Wade had been just as desperate as him. And he hadn’t laughed at Peter, so... things are going well. He thinks?

He leaves through the front door, the cold air washing over his body and making his skin goosebump as he locks the door behind him.

“Um-” He starts, staring at his shoes, biting his lower lip shyly. “You don’t have to walk me home if you don’t want to.”

The sound of the rain and wind are the only things that reply. He looks up, looking left and then right. “...Wade?” He calls out, hopeful smile slipping from his lips.

He’s alone. 

* * *

Peter waits for a while, huddling in his hoodie, hoping that Wade had maybe gone for a short walk, bored with waiting for Peter to finish up. But it only gets colder and the rain heavier, and Peter blinks back tears, staring down at his shoes.

 _Stupid,_ he thinks to himself, venturing out from under the awning and into the dimly lit street, the rain pelting down on his umbrella and soaking into his socks. _Did you really think he was going to stay?_

* * *

Back at his apartment he curls up on the couch, clutching a blanket around his shoulders, staring blankly at his tv screen playing Planet Earth.

He’d looked in the mirror when he’d come home, and he’s got bruises on either side of his neck from Wade’s fingers, dark shadows against the paleness of his skin. He touches them lightly as he thinks, shivering in his blanket

 _Is he going to come back again? Did he get what he wanted this time? Is he just playing with me? What was with his black eye? Is he in trouble? Is that why he left? Was I too easy? Was me crying weird? Why did I let that_ happen? _Where I_ work? _Oh my god, Peter, you idiot._

He hugs his knees to his chest, sniffing. It feels like he’s done something wrong, like he’d driven Wade off even though Wade had said he’d been perfect. Peter remembers the tone of Wade’s voice as he’d said _good boy,_ and the memory of those words still makes his stomach tighten even as his chest hurts.

 _Just not good enough,_ Peter thinks to himself, picking at the side of his fingernail. And then he feels dumb, because he’s freaking out over a guy who he’s met three times, and been left high and dry by twice. 

He drops his forehead down to his knees, closes his eyes and listens to David Attenborough’s calming voice and the rain against his window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wade what the heck.
> 
> I’m on twitter at @silvyri if anyone wants to chat or follow for updates. :)


End file.
